Chapter:11 Trip(5):Arrival

Hector walked into the bar at exactly the moment when the clock struck midnight. The door swung open, revealing Hector, battle-worn with his clothes tainted by a hint of blood and his posture displaying the toll of recent strife.

As he stepped into the inn, a hush fell upon the occupants, not like there was much talk to begin with but the stifled words died down as well. The bartender, Thaddeus, glanced up from the counter, his eyes gleamed in recognition.

"Welcome, Hector,"

Thaddeus greeted him, his voice an unusual familiarity towards the injured man.

"You've come to the right place. Let's get you settled."

Hector managed a weary nod, grateful for the hospitality. He removed his cloak, revealing the signs of a recent battle etched across his frame. Thaddeus guided him to a seat at the bar, patting his back to comfort him.

"Would you like a drink to ease the strain?"

Thaddeus asked, his tone as gentle as ever.

"Aye,"

Hector replied, his voice reflecting both fatigue and gratitude.

"Something strong, if you please."

Thaddeus prepared a robust drink, a blend of firewhiskey with a touch of calming potion, carefully crafting a concoction known to ease both body and soul. He slid the glass toward Hector, who raised it in a silent toast.

As Hector sipped the drink, a comforting warmth spread through his body. The magic in his body had already begun the work of mending and his scars started to disappear. 

Madeye marched up to him and patted his back with enough force to knock him forward a bit.

"So, Hector boy, what happened? Y'look quite roughed up."

Hector smiled wryly,

"I got jumped, wasn't expecting the 'Brotherhood of the Obsidian Veil' to be here. Also wasn't expecting you here Madeye, which poor bloke are ya' gonna throw behind the bar this time."

Moody frowned,

"You got some nerves kid, talking back to your instructor like this."

But soon he began to cackle like a madman,

"But you have grown since the last time I saw you. When was that 10 years ago or 20?"

Hector smiled,

"It's been 15 years ago. Your mind's grown foggy over the years old man."

Moody's grin widened even more,

"And you've grown rusty. What, Spent one too many nights with the Veela?"

Victoire thought that Hector would be annoyed or maybe even try and hex Moody, but he simply smiled wryly again.

Having finished his glass of liquor, he finally remembered his daughter,

"Hey Thaddeus, where's the little girl that came to you around two hours ago."

This time, instead of a gentle smile, Thaddeus had a rather mischievous look on his face,

"What 'girl' are ya' talking about Hector?"

Now he looked dangerously annoyed.

Hector didn't hesitate for even a moment, he swung his arm forward and his wand slid out of his sleeve. Pointing it towards Thaddeus, he growled,

"Don't play with me Thaddeus, I made sure she walked into the inn before going back. Tell me where is she?"

He stood up, grasped the bartender's collar, and lifted him off his feet.

"Tell me where is Victoire?"

Hector jabbed his wand into the bartender's rib.

Thaddeus winced at the sudden blow but his grin didn't falter he pointed at the table Victoire was sitting on and gasped out,

"I don't know any Victoire, the only 'girl' that's here is Isabelle, Isabelle Blue."

Hector turned around to see where Thaddeus was pointing and saw Victoire sitting at a table filled with empty mugs and talking to a witch.

Victoire had a gentle smile on her face and was silently nodding her head while listening to the witch. Once in a while, she would pat the back of the witch's hand or simply smile even more brightly. The witch, clearly flustered at the gestures, was stuttering and fumbling with her words. 

The witch was Elara Müller, a German witch, and Auror. She was a tall woman, standing at about 5 feet 10 inches, her physique was lean and well-toned from years of active duty. Her face was somewhat gaunt and her sharp, sea-green eyes held a glint of sadness. Lines of worry etched across her forehead and around her eyes. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves around her face. On this particular night, her appearance was a bit messy.

In terms of attire, she wore a standard dark robe made of durable, enchanted material to provide protection and freedom of movement. Beneath the robe, she donned a fitted, long-sleeved shirt in deep emerald green which was struggling to hold back her particularly curvy bosom. The shirt was emblazoned with the auror emblem - a stylized wand and shield. Practical dark trousers and sturdy boots completed her ensemble.

She had initially thought that Victoire was a child tricked by Thaddeus into drinking alcohol. Indignant, she had walked over to the child and slammed the table with her first, glaring at the bartender who was mixing a fresh glass of 'Amber's Delight'. 

Elara vaguely remembered snatching the mug out of Victoire's hands and chided her for accepting drinks from a stranger. However, the child's face was not at all flustered, thinking that she had misunderstood the bartender's intentions, she took a sip from the mug, not remembering that she had almost zero tolerance for alcohol.

Now dead drunk, she clung to Victoire and kept on bawling her eyes out. She told of all her troubles and the pressure she experienced in her job. Victoire listened to her problems and made assuring gestures like patting her hand or giving her a bright smile.

'Finally! Someone listens to me.'

Or so she thought.

Victoire's mind was occupied by something entirely different,

'Looks like I haven't rusted much.'

She had thought that being a kid, she lost all her skills at picking girls. But it appears that she still had it in her. 'Listening' was one of the factors that she had learned while picking a partner for the night, and well maybe 'Gestures' was another auxiliary skill that helped. But it looks like rebirth hadn't dulled her senses. 

Listening to Thaddeus narrating the tale, Hector stared wide-eyed at Victoire.

He knew that Victoire had barely ever gone out of the family estate, two months if you count her time at Beauxbatons. Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought that she was so skilled at picking up girls.

Marching over to their table, he said in a surprised voice,

"Victoire dear, what have you been doing while I was gone?"

Victoire whirled around to find her father gawking at her drinking partner, not like Elara was any different. She too stared back at Hector, her green eyes blazing with anger.

She knew that if their situation progressed any further, then the chances of those two fighting were pretty high. In an attempt to diffuse their standoff, she said,

"Oh, Dad, you are finally here."

"Yes. What are you doing here? And who is this friend of yours?"

He asked in a rather dangerous tone.

"You said to wait for you, and so I did. This is Elara Muller, she offered to keep me company while I waited."

The stare-off between Hector and Elara continued. 

"Victoire, it's bedtime."

Sighing loudly, Victoire stood up and patted Elara's back.

Can't say she wasn't sad parting with her first prey in this new life, but that was Dad's orders, can't deny him.

Apparently, Elara was quite sad too. She looked quite sad, her hazy eyes started to water and she smiled ruefully.

"No need to start crying. You can always talk through a letter, that is, if you know each other well enough."

And with those words, he marshaled Victoire off to their room.

Thaddeus, however, wasn't finished joking with Hector. He called out to the duo,

"Oi, Hector, who is that little girl. I thought you were looking for your daughter Victoire, this girl is Isabelle Blue and she's waiting for her father, Henri Blue."

He chortled loudly behind them. 

"Hardy har har, hilarious of you Thaddeus."

Moody joined in on the fun,

"And the little girl has more sense than you, kiddo."

Yep, for Moody, a fifty-year-old Hector was a kid. Mad-Eye Moody, whose full name is Alastor Moody, was born in the year 1851 making him nearly 134 years old. Older than Dumbledore, older than Professor Griselda Marchbanks, the old lady who took OWLs.

Unwilling to linger, Hector ignored his taunt and marched off to their assigned lodge. Which was on the second floor, the third room to the left, room number 104.

It was an old room, with an ornate chandelier acting as the light source, spreading a gentle glow all across the oak-paneled room. The air carried a faint, soothing aroma, a mix of aged wood and enchanting potions.

Against two opposite walls, stood a pair of double bunk beds with intricately carved heads and footboards, dressed in soft, ivory linens. A plump, quilted comforter lay atop. Beside the bed, a small nightstand held a delicate crystal lamp, casting a warm and comforting glow.

A writing desk sat against a third wall, adorned with elegant quills, ink pots, and parchment, all the stationary one would need. A comfortable armchair and a footstool accompanied the desk, creating a perfect nook for reading or contemplation.

A modest fireplace graced the area next to the door, crackling with an ember glow. Above the mantle hung an ornate mirror and a few tastefully chosen paintings depicting scenes of magical landscapes and creatures.

Quite a modest room, much unlike what the inn's outward appearance suggested.

Victoire made herself comfortable on one of the beds while Hector dragged the armchair next to the fireplace and started to stare at the fire burning with it. 

"So, what took you so long?"

Hector sighed and began with when he had made sure that she was inside the inn...

After ensuring that Victoire had safely entered the Enchanted Ember, which he was sure was an impregnable fortress with the constant flux of Aurors and Hit Wizards. It was, after all, an establishment maintained specifically for students, law enforcement witches and wizards, and those who were targeted by the scums of the wizarding world. He was quite sure that no harm would come to her there.

As soon as he saw her enter the door, his obligations as a father were fulfilled. Now all that remained were his professional duties. 

He strolled down the path and as soon as he was out of the inn's sight, he apparated.

*

In the heart of the wizarding quarter, concealed amidst the bustling magical town of Eldermoor, veiled from the light of moon or lamp lay a clandestine alley draped in shadows. This infamous alley, known simply as Nocturne's Veil,' was a spot where the clandestine dealings of dark wizards, Aurors, and informants would converge under the cloak of secrecy.

To any unsuspecting eyes, Nocturne's Veil would appear as an unassuming, narrow alleyway, wedged between two ordinary-looking, at least to wizards, shops. A tattered, nondescript sign swung lazily in the breeze, baring the mark of recent conflict. The passage was perpetually dim, the glow of distant lanterns or even the moonlight barely managing to penetrate its depths.

*CRACK*

The silence was broken by a sudden crackling sound and an old man materialized at the entrance of the alley. 

Strolling forward, the old man entered the depths of the shadowy cove, he swung his arm in a soft downward motion, casting a revealing charm, unveiling a concealed entrance to this bustling world. Another tap of his wand sent a ripple through the barrier, and slowly the wall of silver light disintegrated.

As he stepped through the magical threshold, a different world unfolded before him. It was a twisted bazaar, shrouded in dim light and the pungent scent of magic-infused potions and something that resembled a suspicious metallic tang. Stalls and booths lined the cobblestone pathways, draped in dark fabric and dim enchantments.

This, my friends, was the Veiled Market, or as the Aurors preferred to call it, the Vile Market. This was the place where the darkest of artifacts, potions, and forbidden spells were traded by sinister sellers from all over the world.

The old man, probably an Auror, disguised himself beneath a cloak that concealed his build. Cautiously navigating through the market, he strived to complete his mission: to gather intelligence, identify possible threats, and intercept a particularly illegal transaction.

He was not the first to do so and neither would he be the last. The balance of power teetered on a knife's edge, and each visit was a gamble for the greater good.

Walking further into the Nocturne's Veil, he reached a hidden hall, an array of silver symbols and words encrypted on the door, the old man knew that these symbols would mask any conversations from prying ears.

This place was aptly named "Whispered Hall," a place where Aurors and informants convene to exchange secrets and information. And this place just so happened to be banned from seventy wizarding insurance institutions.

The old man walked into the hall, his presence overlooked by all its occupants.

Drifting across the floor, he scanned one booth after the other, searching for his contact in the maze of these halls. 

Soon he spotted who he was looking for, an old, gaunt witch dressed in all black save for her relatively ugly face marred by scars and wrinkles, bearing all signs of having aged in a strained environment.

He stepped into the booth and slid onto one of the three tables placed in a crescent format right across the small stool that the hag was sitting on.

"What do ye' seek, old fool?"

The witch spoke in a raspy voice, clearly damaged.

"What say you, hag of the haggard, of the brotherhoods of the veils?"

The old man questioned in a soft, calming voice.

"Oh? That be costly knowledge ye' seek."

She chortled,

"Have ye 7,000 galleons in ye pocket?"

She asked again.

At this question, the old man took out a small metal box and shook it in front of the hag. The jingling sound seems to have an invigorating effect on the hag. She reached out towards the box but the old man backed away before she could reach it.

"The knowledge first, old one, the payment would come after."

The hag sank back onto her stool and spoke words in an incoherent, almost gibberish, language. Moments later, she began speaking of the so-called knowledge she priced so high.

"The brotherhood you speak of are many in numbers, 'The brotherhood of stony veil', 'The brotherhood of murderous Veil', of the bloody veil and whatnot. Heck, I know a 'brotherhood of bloody underwear', which one do you want to know about?"

They both chuckled at her seemingly unusual comment.

"You know which brotherhood I seek, oh hag of the haggard, or should I call you Martha Batra."

Martha, the old hag, stared at the old man. Her eyes betrayed the barest hint of shock before she began chortling again. 

"Yes my dear, I know of the brotherhood you seek auror. There is only one 'brotherhood' that could compel the head of French Aurors to travel from France's comforts to this dingy old alley."

Hector, disguised as an old man, nodded softly.

"Continue."

Chuckling, she spoke,

"Yes, the 'Brotherhood of the Obsidian Veil'. A gathering of Death Eaters and Acolytes."

Another hearty chuckle,

"Believing that one Dark Lord could control the other."

Another wave of uncontrollable laughter,

"Believing that a revived Dark Lord would free the captured Dark Lord. Believing that a freed Dark Lord would revive a dying Dark Lord."

She slammed her palms down on the table.

"They think that He-who-must-not-be-named could influence Gellert Grindelwald's decision. Or maybe they think that Grindelwald can help with the revival of He-who-must-not-be-named."

The old man sighed,

"Yeah, yeah, I know what those nutjobs want. Tell me what are they planning? Why are they gathering in Paris? Why did they raid the Italian Ministry of Magic? What is their goal in stealing... that 'thing'?"

The hag stood up, and as she slid across the floor, she spoke in a dark tone,

"What are they planning? Their gatherings, the raid, that... 'thing'. Why you of all people ought to know the reason why they are doing something this rapidly?"

And with a sudden twirl, she turned around and pointed a bony wand at him,

"Diffindo!"

A transparent, sharp blade made of magic tore through the room and slammed into Hector at full force.

"Protego!"

Barely managing to defend himself, Hector tried to apparate but found himself incapable of doing so.

"You think we will underestimate the Auror who slaughtered dozens of our brothers and sisters."

At that moment, the four walls of the booth burst asunder as several witches and wizards came hurtling inside.

"Stupefy!"

"Diffindo!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Reducto!"

"...

A whirlwind of spells came hurtling toward him, he tried his best to keep up the shielding charm but a fully powered 'Reducto' shattered his shields and struck him straight on the chest, leaving a streak of red on his coat beneath the cloak. A red streak of ' Expelliarmus' sent him hurtling through the walls.

He stood up and limped away, pursued by a host of dark wizards who wanted nothing more than to skin him alive.

"Incendio!"

"Diffindo!"

"Reducto!"

"...

Another wave of red and white streaks flashed behind him, but this time around, there were several emerald green mixed in the storm of spells.

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Crucio!"

"...

'Oh, so you want to play with the unforgivables now? Then let's play.'

Whirling around, he jabbed his wand at the floor.

"IGNIS INFESTIS!"

An extremely powerful dark magic that the wizarding world despised and banned. He, however, had married a Veela who would randomly burst into flames during the night. The control required to skillfully use fiendfyre was second nature to him by now.

As the incantation left his lips, the magical energy surged from the tip of his wand, forming an infernal vortex of flame and malice. The Fiendfyre, born from the darkest depths of magic, manifested as a creature of pure destructive fire.

The flames materialized as a colossal, monstrous entity, its shape-shifting, and morphing within the flames. It bore the semblance of a fearsome creature, with fiery limbs, gnashing jaws, and sharp talons. The contours of its form were ever-changing, mimicking the tormented souls trapped within the flames.

The Fiendfyre exuded an aura of malevolence that seemed to devour light and hope, leaving only an oppressive darkness in its wake. The flames danced in a hypnotic frenzy, their hues ranging from searing reds to intense blues, giving the impression of a living, sentient being consumed by an insatiable hunger.

The truth of this spell is that once unleashed, the Fiendfyre has a mind of its own, craving destruction and chaos. It roared, its deafening sound echoing through the air, as it rampaged and devoured everything in its path. The very air grew scorching hot as it approached, leaving a wake of incineration and devastation.

The chasing wizards were either engulfed in the monstrous flames or tried to dodge out of their way, quite unsuccessfully if he might add.

But soon it all changed, the demonic flames seemed to have engulfed the wizard who had cast the anti-apparition jinx. Facing no resistance, the wizards all around him started to Disapparate. 

Hector too disapparated but not before banishing the fiery fiend that he had summoned.

"And that's why it took me so long to get here dear."

Hector finished his narration while Victoire listened carefully.